The words don't come right away; but when they do they're spoken softly, just enough for the system to register it as a command.
Mairon has his back to the door, having been in the middle of pacing away from it. He stands there, turning the gold band around on his finger and finding some small amount of comfort in it, still clinging to the surge of Melkor's spirit that had come before. The bit of heat, the feeling of it against his own, letting it wash over him as many times as memory will allow. It's frighteningly effective.
When he does turn around, it's with a stiff and tense movement that only begins to relax after reaching out with more than just a hand to grab hold of whatever he can reach. A hand, an arm, a tendril of Melkor's fea, pressing his forehead to Melkor's shoulder.
"Forgive me for calling to you, master." He doesn't seek comfort often (or at all, to be frank), and it's beginning to feel foolish to seek it now for something like this. "And for the secrets that I keep."
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The words don't come right away; but when they do they're spoken softly, just enough for the system to register it as a command.
Mairon has his back to the door, having been in the middle of pacing away from it. He stands there, turning the gold band around on his finger and finding some small amount of comfort in it, still clinging to the surge of Melkor's spirit that had come before. The bit of heat, the feeling of it against his own, letting it wash over him as many times as memory will allow. It's frighteningly effective.
When he does turn around, it's with a stiff and tense movement that only begins to relax after reaching out with more than just a hand to grab hold of whatever he can reach. A hand, an arm, a tendril of Melkor's fea, pressing his forehead to Melkor's shoulder.
"Forgive me for calling to you, master." He doesn't seek comfort often (or at all, to be frank), and it's beginning to feel foolish to seek it now for something like this. "And for the secrets that I keep."
The ship is cruel indeed, he thinks.